That old tin car could take you outta this town
Down dusty tracks with rucksacks on the backseat.
The wallet with the hole in and your last bit of change, its always the same.
The sun in your eyes and no shades, just go the other way, its ok.
Tanned hands to shake can mean money to make, a week or two later and you have made another break.
Bunk beds and room shares, tired eyes dont care, its just another rest before the day breaks again.
The fire cracks and cooks the the catch, hungry mouths wait, eager hands hold the plate.
As the bottle gets passed strangers share laughs, of times reminiscent of the one they share now.
So dont sit around with a frown feelin down cos that old tin car could take you outta this town.